


Discursive

by lucyoppa



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Writer and Editor, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 14:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyoppa/pseuds/lucyoppa
Summary: Working with Kyungsoo presents a very specific set of challenges that Jongin's not too sure he's well enough equipped to deal with.





	Discursive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [memefucker69 (amputeekun)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=memefucker69+%28amputeekun%29).



> This is a repost from [AFF](http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1225842/discursive-fluff-romance-jongin-kyungsoo-kaisoo-topsoo-kadi), and it was written for Kira (memefucker69).
> 
> If you wanna chat, come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/lucy_oppa), or drop a message in my [curiouscat ](https://curiouscat.me/lucyoppa) if you're shy!

 

 

The screech of runners along their curtain rail is the only prelude to both a sudden stream of bright sunlight into an upscale Seoul penthouse, and Kyungsoo’s rather late awakening one Wednesday morning.

  
“Get up. It’s time to write.” Jongin’s voice comes from somewhere near the side of the bed and something clicks down onto the nightstand. “Drink that, it’s coffee.”  


The lump swimming under too many blankets, and lost, somewhere in a very large king-sized bed seems to struggle a bit as it tries to wriggle free, looks for a moment, like it’s given up the fight, and then finally surfaces, with ruffled hair and swollen eyes.  


“What,” says Kyungsoo intelligently, more statement than question. Jongin takes a moment to note how wholly unfair it is that Kyungsoo makes a just-woken-up voice sound deep and husky. As if his  _awake_  voice wasn’t smooth and low enough already. Asshole.  


“Coffee.” Jongin points to the nightstand. The basics first. “Drink. I let myself in with your spare key, if you’re wondering.”  


“What?” Kyungsoo says again, although this time he seems to have realised that he’s asking a question, and sits up enough to reach for the cardboard coffee cup. It’s miraculous that he doesn’t spill any of it on the pristine white duvet – because Murphy’s Law and all – as he brings it up to his lips and takes his first grateful sip.  


Kyungsoo has really nice lips, actually. Not that Jongin’s ever noticed  _before_ , of course, because he’s definitely got better things to do in his spare time than sit around and think about Do Kyungsoo’s lips all day. It’s just that he’s got his mouth all up on that coffee cup right now, and it’s more than a little distracting.  


Jongin’s never really liked distractions.  


“Why are you still asleep?” He asks, frowning. But it’s more to divert his mind from the fact that Kyungsoo’s stuck his legs out from under the blankets now, and it looks very much like he isn’t wearing pants, than the want of an answer. Kyungsoo always sleeps in. Since he’s never doing his actual job, and all. “It’s, like, eleven.”  


Kyungsoo doesn’t answer immediately, reaching out to fumble for his glasses on the nightstand. When he turns back to Jongin, he blinks at him with a little more clarity in his eyes.  


That’s a relief, Jongin thinks. Kyungsoo in glasses he can deal with. Kyungsoo in glasses is a kind of cute nerd, who’s slightly hard to read. Sleep-tousled Kyungsoo with his hair pushed back out of his eyes and his shirt slipping down over his collarbones is a different beast altogether.  


“Baekhyun and Chanyeol dragged me out last night.” Kyungsoo rasps, with a grimace. “And let’s just say I really need this coffee. Thank you.”  


Jongin laughs at that.  


“You’re getting old,” he teases.  


“I am,” Kyungsoo agrees, the first inkling of a smile gracing his lips for the morning. “I try to brush them off as much as possible, with the way they’re out living it up every weekend, but it’s been a while and this time they pulled the ‘you’re being a bad friend’ card.”  


“The worst,” Jongin commiserates. He’s been out with Chanyeol and Baekhyun and Kyungsoo once before. It’s not an experience he particularly wants to repeat, despite the fact that Kyungsoo’s friends are both lovely people. “How long since you’ve last been?”  


Kyungsoo hums in thought for a moment.  


“Not since I went with you a month ago.”  


Jongin swallows.  


“Ahh,” he says, hoping Kyungsoo’s too sleepy to really think into the topic at hand too much.  


He doesn’t particularly want to  _remember_  that night either. Specifically because he  _doesn’t_  remember much, and the thought of what he could have said or done during his blackout is a very mortifying thought indeed.  


Chanyeol and Baekhyun are both lovely people, that told Jongin to skip all of the formalities that came with being the youngest in the group, and kept his glass ever-full throughout the night.  


Jongin is a very honest drunk.  


And Kyungsoo had had to drive him home in the state he’d ended up in.  


All in all: not a good combination. He still doesn’t know if he said anything compromising, and for now, at least, ignorance is bliss.  


“If I leave now,” Jongin starts, both to change the subject, and because he really  _does_  have shit to do today. “Are you going to write?”  


Kyungsoo stares back at him, saying nothing. At least he has the grace to look a little sheepish.  


“I take it that’s a no?” Jongin raises a single, extremely disapproving eyebrow.  


Kyungsoo sighs, exasperated.  


“I’m having one of those days.”  


“More like one of those weeks,” Jongin frowns. “When was the last time you worked on the book, hyung?”  


Kyungsoo just looks sheepish again. Jongin thinks about his ruined schedule, takes a deep breath, and decides to take pity on him for the millionth time.  


“Get up. I’ll take you out to brunch, and we’ll talk about it.”  


He decides right about then that it’s a good time to leave the room and give Kyungsoo some privacy to change. Because Kyungsoo’s getting up now, and  _oh god_ , he was right, there are no pants involved in Kyungsoo’s sleepwear, and that oversized T-shirt may be long, but it still exposes an awful lot of thigh.  


Working with Kyungsoo presents a very specific set of challenges that Jongin’s not too sure he’s well enough equipped to deal with.  


Jongin is, in short, an editor. But with this new job of his – as  _Kyungsoo’s_  editor specifically – he feels like he’s taken on multiple jobs in one. Kyungsoo just demands so much more of his time and attention than any of the previous writers he’s worked with, and it’s not something he’s particularly used to.  


But Kyungsoo is the author of South Korea’s best-selling novel of 2016, and has won multiple awards and accolades for his first, and currently only, published book. And Kyungsoo is…. Well, he’s a little eccentric. And Jongin really should have  _known_  he was getting himself into something when Kyungsoo’s last editor quit, despite the promise of a spin-off sequel coming out in just over a year, and the benefit that working with someone so successful could have been to his career.  


And nowadays, Jongin understands. Junmyeon had always seemed like the highly-strung type. Too fond of order. And Jongin’s had to do away with any sense of keeping a schedule since Kyungsoo’s started treating him like a personal pet, has to be at his beck and call almost every hour of the day.  


A lot of what he spends his time doing these days isn’t really included in the standard job description for most editors. It certainly wasn’t included in his, when he applied for the job.  


Jongin had complained to Minseok, his boss, at first. Told him that he had other work to do. That he couldn’t be out entertaining the whims of some crazed billionaire all day. Minseok had simply nodded, smiled, said ‘he understood’, and then cleared Jongin’s schedule, warning him that Kyungsoo was too important of a client not to do exactly what he wants, all of the time.  


And Jongin supposes he shouldn’t complain, really. ‘Helping’ Kyungsoo usually involves getting to do stuff he’d never do on his own (and within his budget). He’s eaten at restaurants where a single meal costs more than his monthly pay check, and just last week Kyungsoo took him to see a ballet, which was somewhat of a religious experience for him.  


Kyungsoo says he’s looking for inspiration. That it’s something he struggles to find, all on his own.  


(Jongin thinks that last one might have been more for his own interest in dance than Kyungsoo’s, but he’ll never say it out loud.)  


The thing is, it all sounds lovely, like something out of a fairy-tale, a dream come true for an overworked editor like Jongin, but there  _are_  problems. Kyungsoo’s next book has a deadline, and the chapters are coming fewer and far in between, and truth be told, at the rate he’s been going, he just isn’t going to make it.  


Jongin had sat Kyungsoo down one day, and asked him what could be done about it all. Kyungsoo had said that his usual techniques weren’t working, that he ‘lacked inspiration’. Kyungsoo had told Jongin to ‘inspire him’.  


Whatever the fuck that means.  


But Jongin is nothing if not good at his job – even if his job has taken a turn for the unconventional – and he’ll be damned if he lets Kyungsoo’s eccentricities get in the way of publishing a book that’ll probably be the biggest leap his career ever makes, let alone Kyungsoo’s.  


So he damn well tries his best. From spontaneous trips to the park when Kyungsoo complains about writer’s block during the week, to coffee breaks at those obscure hipster cafés Jongin has to search up on the internet to find, for discussions about specific problem scenes. He keeps an eye on local events, sees if any shows or art exhibitions are coming up. And slowly but surely, the speed of Kyungsoo’s writing had picked back up, and his work had started to pay off.  


But writer’s block is an unpredictable thing, and Kyungsoo still has bad days. Today is one such example.  


The restaurant they finally settle on is warm and bustling. It has one of those little bells on the door that tinkles every time a new customer walks in, and there’s lots of natural light streaming in from a whole wall’s worth of window panes off to their left.  


“So,” Jongin starts, looking over the rim of his tea cup at Kyungsoo, who’s drinking even more coffee now. “What are you having trouble with at the moment?”  


A loud giggle from a couple of tables over catches Jongin’s attention. He looks over, and it’s a table-full of teenage girls throwing the two of them a plethora of not-so-subtle glances. They blush and dissolve into a fit of more giggles when he makes eye contact with one of them.  


Probably fans of Kyungsoo’s. He shrugs it off.  


“Well there are a couple of scenes,” Kyungsoo starts, and Jongin shifts his attention fully back to him. “Like the date scene, and the one where they go to the beach, that I’m struggling with.”  


“Have you tried moving on and writing other scenes first?” Jongin asks. The ambient noise of the restaurant around them seems to have a permanent undertone of  _giggle_  now. “Then you could go back and write them when you’re ready.”  


Kyungsoo sighs, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. They settle back on the bridge of his nose a little skew, so he reaches up to straighten them.  


“I’ve tried that already.” He shrugs. “I’m running out of other scenes to write.”  


“Well at least that means you’ve been writing, I guess,” Jongin laughs. Their food comes soon after that, so they put the conversation on hold to eat.  


In the end, they only make it halfway through the meal before two of the girls brave approaching their table to ask Kyungsoo for his autograph. He’s as polite and obliging as ever, and takes the proffered pen to sign their napkins.  


Kyungsoo is a romance author, who’s captured the hearts of most of the young adult and teenage fiction audience in the country. And although Kyungsoo is a good writer – no one would deny it, not even a lot of his heavier critics – Jongin notes it doesn’t exactly  _hurt_  his chances to be one of the most attractive young bachelors in the city, especially with a fan base so predominantly young and female.  


He’s reaching near-idol status with the giggling, squealing masses, and this isn’t the first time Jongin’s witnessed Kyungsoo being approached by pretty young girls for an autograph, or, if they’re brave, a selca.  


The older, more conservative readers, however, are shocked. Not  _only_  because Kyungsoo’s debut novel contains quite a few steamy sex scenes, but also because the romance in question, is a gay one. And Kyungsoo’s been accused, on many an occasion, of polluting the minds of Korea’s youth, and ‘turning them homosexual’.  


Kyungsoo seems to mostly ignore it, as far as Jongin’s seen. And hey,  _he’s_  the one with the shiny black Maserati parked in a reserved space a hundred storeys (give or take) below a ritzy apartment on the posh side of town. So in the end, with all that extra media spotlight from the shock value driving his sales number up, who’s the real winner here?  


“Is this your boyfriend oppa?” The shorter of the two girls can’t quite seem to resist asking now as she gestures to Jongin. Jongin feels his face turn red and Kyungsoo laughs pleasantly.  


“No, he’s my editor. Which means he’s still on the market, as far as I know.” The girls titter nigh-hysterically when Kyungsoo wiggles his eyebrows, leaning closer as if conspiring with them.  


“You fool,” Jongin grumbles once they’ve left, mouth half-covered as he rests his burning cheek on one hand in an attempt to cool it off. “It’s not  _me_  they’re interested in.”  


Kyungsoo smiles a smile that borders a little too near a smirk for Jongin’s comfort.  


“Don’t you own a mirror Jongin? You don’t need to be famous to attract attention with a face like yours.”  


Well that promptly shuts him up. He goes back to his food, trying to ignore the little chuckle from across the table, hoping they can both hurry up and leave, and forget about this whole damn thing.  


Kyungsoo eventually ropes him back into conversation by asking what Jongin thinks he should do about his writer’s block. Jongin tells him he’ll think of something to get him going again, but in the meantime, that he should work on scenes that are proving less difficult at the time being.  


And so, they fall back into one of their regular – and safe – conversations about the book.  


But not without a permanent red stain on Jongin’s cheeks, it seems.

  


 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  
  
Kyungsoo only ever seems to pick up after the tenth ring. It’s a Tuesday, and Jongin is annoyed.  


“Do you need me to come over today, or are you writing?” He asks, almost before Kyungsoo’s managed to rasp out a sleepy  _‘hello’_. For Christ’s sake, it’s nearly midday. This man has an entire  _book_  to write.  


“No.” There’s muffled movement picking up across the line, like Kyungsoo’s dragging himself out from under that mountain of blankets he usually keeps on his bed. Seriously. It’s  _Summer_. “You don’t have to come over if you’re busy.”  


“Good, because my sister just asked me to watch my niece and nephew today, so I need to know  _now_  if I’m going to have to bail on her. And then later I have a dinner date, of sorts, so I’m pretty much booked up.”  


“No.” Kyungsoo says, and his voice is still that warm kind of husky that has Jongin’s toes curling inside of his slippers inadvertently. “Go watch your niece and nephew. Unless you want an excuse to get out of it? In which case, there’s this place just down the road from my apartment I’ve been meaning to check out –”  


“No,” Jongin laughs out loud at that. “I love kids. There’s no need.”  


“I thought as much,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin feels that familiar – and annoying – warmth lick through his chest at the fondness in his voice. “You’re a caring person.”  


He clears his throat.  


“So how’s the writing going anyway?” Jongin quickly changes the subject. All of this dangerous territory nonsense has to stop. “Getting anywhere?”  


“Well I’m struggling with a different scene now, actually,” Kyungsoo says, and the trace of humour in his voice puts Jongin on high alert almost immediately. “But I don’t think it’s one you particularly want to help me with.”  


Jongin bites the bullet and takes the bait anyway.  


“Which scene?”  


“The sex scene.”  


He turns beet red, and for just this moment, he’s glad for the fact that Kyungsoo can’t see his face right now. But he  _can_  hear the way Jongin splutters before he finds his next words, and that’s just as bad.  


“No thank you,” He says, voice schooled back into a more reserved – but still scandalised – kind of indignant. Jongin’s mind might just say otherwise though, especially when Kyungsoo’s warm, appealing laugh sounds right in his ear, filling him to the core. “You can figure that one out on your own.”  


“If you say so.” Kyungsoo’s still chuckling. Jongin decides right about now is a good time for this conversation to end.  


“Goodbye Kyungsoo,” he says quickly, before he says something dumb enough to betray himself.   


He gets another blast of Kyungsoo’s laughter just before he hangs up, and it shocks through his already jittery nerves like an electric current.  


“Smug motherfucker,” he grumbles to himself, getting up from the couch where he was sitting.  


He has to splash his face with cold water anyway before he sets off to his sister’s.  


 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
Babysitting his sister’s children goes as smoothly as it ever does.   


As in it goes  _too_  well. So well that the children scream and cry when he has to leave, and Jongin gets a stern little talking to from his sister about spoiling them too much when he visits. Jongin pouts his way through the whole thing. It’s not  _his_  fault they’re so adorable in the first place.  


But thoughts of their heart-wrenching cries and sniffly tears are soon replaced with laughter and much-missed conversation. Sehun – the one he’s met up with for dinner – is an old friend from college, and not someone he’s gotten to see a lot of lately, with how busy he’s been. 

 

For his part, Sehun is a poet. But only sort-of, because poets don’t really make enough money in this day and age to get by, so he keeps a modelling contract on the side. Kris, who’s this tall, kinda scary looking Chinese-Canadian guy Sehun met in one or another of his artsy circles of friends, likes to call him a sell-out for it.  


He’s stopped doing that recently though. Sehun might have sucked his dick or something.  


“From who I know you are as a person, I would have expected you to sound much more upset by all of this,” Sehun drawls when Jongin’s finished filling him in on the whole Kyungsoo situation between mouthfuls of fried chicken and soju. “Seriously, you  _hate_  spontaneity.”  


“I wouldn’t say I  _hate_  it –” Jongin protests weakly, but Sehun cuts him off with a snort.  


“Yes you do.” He pauses here to lick the grease off of each of his long, delicate fingertips in turn, before he picks up another piece of chicken. “You must like him a lot.”  


Jongin fiddles with the condensation slipping down the side of his glass, drawing patterns in the water pooling on the table-top. There’s no way safe way to respond to a comment like that.

  
“How do  _you_  find inspiration,” he asks instead, changing the subject. If Sehun notices – which he almost certainly does, knowing him – it’s lost somewhere in his enthusiasm to talk about his poetry, and Jongin makes a mental note to ask about it more often.  


“I’m trying to find my muse,” Sehun grins, and Jongin just looks deadpan.  


“Don’t tell me that’s why you sleep around so much.”  


“It is,” Sehun continues, shameless. “The experience in and of itself is inspiring enough to keep me going – the fact that it’s a stranger, doing something so intimate in the dark, and how it feels almost taboo – but I’m hoping one day to find someone a little more permanent. Someone who keeps me writing without even trying.”  


Jongin nods to himself. That’s surprisingly… romantic, as far as Sehun’s concerned.  


“But they’re just hook-ups,” Jongin says now, trying to understand. “You’re not realistically ever going to see any of them ever again.”  


“Maybe not,” Sehun sighs. “But I can try. The last one left his number. I’m thinking of giving him a call sometime.”  


“Do you even remember his name?” Jongin raises one sceptical eyebrow.  


“Yixing? I think? It was pretty distinctive, he’s a Chinese exchange student apparently. A dancer. Made him really good in bed too. He did this thing with his hips where he –”  


“Okay!” Jongin cuts him off loudly, and he hates how he gets flustered so easily, because now Sehun’s snickering at the light flush coating his cheeks. “That’s enough! I really don’t need to know.”  


“Don’t be such a prude, Jongin.”  


“I’m not a prude,” he mumbles into his palm, red-faced.  


“Really? When was the last time you even had sex?”  


“Umm,” Jongin fumbles through his memory. It’s been a while, and he concedes. “More than a year ago.”  


“Not since Soojung, huh?”  


“No, not really.”  


“You should put yourself out there sometime, you know? You’re going to die alone.”  


“I’m busy, Sehun,” Jongin tells him. And it’s true, but some part of him knows that’s not the only reason. “I like my job. I’m happy like this.”  


“Isn’t that why the relationship ended in the first place? You were too busy?”  


“Something like that.”  


“You should give her a call sometime. I heard she was back in town.”  


“I don’t think that’s –”  


“The way I remember it, you guys didn’t end on such bad terms.”  


Jongin shifts. Clears his throat.  


“We didn’t. We still keep in touch, a little.”  


“Then why not go for it?”  


“She’s moved on, Sehun. Found someone else. Can’t remember his name, but they seem happy together.”  


“Oh.” Sehun pauses. Then: “I’m sorry Jongin.”  


“It’s not…” Jongin fiddles with his straw, bends it in half over and over again, and it feels like a visual representation of his brain during this kind of conversation. “It didn’t hurt. When she told me.”  


“Oh.”  


“I think I’m over it. She’s a great person, but that part of my life is over. And that’s… okay.”  


“Then why not try find someone new?”  


“Sehun –”  


“I can take you out with me when I go looking for my next source of inspiration, if you want?”  


Sehun wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Jongin can’t help but smile.  


But his mind conjures up images of a stranger’s lips on his skin anyway, his back meeting the wall in a dimly lit apartment hallway.  


Somewhere in between his own meagre experience with one night stands and his imagination, those lips turn out not to belong to a stranger at all.  


“Thanks Sehun, but I don’t think I’d like that.”

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
Later, when they’re about to leave, and Jongin has insisted on paying even though Sehun’s not really the starving artist that he used to be, he’s stopped short by a question.  


“So did I help?” Sehun shrugs on his jacket while Jongin pockets his wallet.  


“With what?” Jongin drawls, blinking lazily at Sehun. They’ve both had a bit too much soju by this point, but Sehun handles his alcohol better always.  


“The whole inspiration thing,” Sehun shrugs, tapping his fingers against the table-top. “Did I help?”  


“By suggesting he find a muse like you’re trying to do?” Jongin blinks.   


Sehun nods.  


Jongin ponders for a moment.  


He doesn’t really want to tell Kyungsoo to do what Sehun does, can’t really stomach the thought of him in some stranger’s arms, in some stranger’s bed, even if he’s every bit beautiful enough to try.  


Maybe he should start thinking about why that thought bothers him so much. Or maybe he could just pull the drunk card, and sink back into his own denial.  


“Maybe,” Jongin tells Sehun. “I don’t know.”  


“Well I tried,” Sehun sighs, getting up now, and Jongin follows suit. “Thanks for dinner, anyway.”  


“Pleasure.”  


They bid their goodbyes on the sidewalk – Sehun lives close enough to walk home in this part of the city, and Jongin hails a taxi. After giving the driver his address and relaxing back into the seat, his phone rings.  


He pulls it out of his pocket, and Kyungsoo’s caller ID blares across the screen at him in his soju-sleepy state obnoxiously.  


“I should refuse to take your calls when it isn’t office hours,” is the first thing out of his mouth. In the rear-view mirror, he can see the ahjussi at the wheel has his eyes on the road, and couldn’t care less about his passenger’s conversation.  


“And yet we’re speaking right now.” Jongin can hear the smile in Kyungsoo’s voice.  


“What is it Kyungsoo? Don’t tell me we’re off inspiration-hunting at this hour, I’ve had a bit too much to drink to do anything but take a nap right now.” Jongin closes his eyes, allowing his head to fall back against the headrest.  


“No. Not that. I just wanted to ask how your dinner went.” Kyungsoo’s voice is unreadable.  


_Kyungsoo_  is unreadable.  


Kyungsoo is  _always_  unreadable, and that’s the problem.  


“It was nice.” Jongin slurs, more from sleepiness than the alcohol. “I haven’t seen Sehun in a while. He’s a good friend.”  


“That’s good,” Kyungsoo answers. His voice sounded a little breathy, just there. Jongin doesn’t understand the purpose for this call.  


“How was your day?” Jongin asks, and it’s hard to think about Kyungsoo going off on his little adventures without him now. It makes something deep inside of him twist. He feels disposable. “Did you manage to find something inspiring?”  


Kyungsoo hums into the receiver, and it’s such a  _nice_  sound. Jongin could listen to it forever.  


“I didn’t try find inspiration today,” Kyungsoo tells him. “I wrote.”  


Jongin opens his eyes.  


“Why?”  


“It felt weird. Doing it without you.” Jongin’s stomach twists and twists and he thinks if the ahjussi isn’t careful taking this next corner, he might just be sick. “So I didn’t.”  


“That’s… um.” Jongin doesn’t know how to respond. “Thanks.”  


“For what?”  


“I don’t know,” Jongin laughs sincerely, listens to Kyungsoo’s breath simmer across the line. “But partly for finally getting some actual writing done.”  


Kyungsoo laughs too now, and it’s so deep and soothing. Jongin thinks it really  _is_  unfair that someone can have a voice this nice.  


“I was talking to Sehun, and” Jongin clears his throat. He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going with this. “You know he’s a poet.”  


“And?”  


“I asked him how he found inspiration for his poems,” the corners of Jongin’s mouth pull down and he wants himself to stop. “You know, in case I could use it to help you too?”  


“What did he say?”  


“He said he’s trying to find his muse.” Jongin doesn’t want to ask the next question, but he does anyway, because he’s drunk and stupid and infatuated, and for some reason, he wants to hurt himself. “Have you ever thought about that? Finding a muse?”  


There’s a long silence on the line.  


So long that Jongin is about to check whether they’ve lost their connection when Kyungsoo next speaks.  


“I have,” he says. Clears his throat. “I have thought about it.”  


“Oh,” Jongin’s voice is small. “Do you think there’s someone like that for you out there?”  


Kyungsoo pauses again, but it’s not so long this time.  


“Perhaps.”  


The silence stretches over the line. Jongin doesn’t really want to know.  


Kyungsoo changes the subject then. About two minutes later he ends the call with a soft ‘goodnight’. It’s only when Jongin is dragging a blanket over his dumb drunk body and tucking himself into bed that he realises he still doesn’t know what that call was for.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
Saturday night brings with it soft, ambient music, and tinkling laughter in the background of an expensive restaurant. A flute of golden champagne bubbles between his fingers, and Jongin feels too awkward, too buttoned up and out of place here, amongst so much opulence.  


“This feels like a date,” his mouth blurts, without permission. Kyungsoo looks up from where he had been perusing the menu just across from him, and Jongin puts down his champagne.  


Maybe he should swear off of alcohol for the rest of his life. It only ever brings him pain, and horrible, mortifying embarrassment.  


“Which helps a lot,” Jongin continues, to save himself, with pink cheeks. “Since the characters in your book are dating. Maybe you can use this as inspiration for your date scene?”  


Kyungsoo smiles and sips his own champagne now, slow and unhurried. Anxiety bubbles in the pit of Jongin’s stomach, which is dumb, because this isn’t  _really_  a date.  


“I never thought of it like that,” Kyungsoo says, tilting his head as he watches Jongin from across the table. The lighting in here is extremely flattering. “It might help. But the date I had in mind was a lot different to this.”  


“Tell me about it,” Jongin urges. It might just be a cheap excuse to divert the subject at hand from his own awkwardness, but talking about his scenes  _does_  usually help Kyungsoo with his writer’s block too.  


The other man sips his champagne again, before he speaks.  


“Well, by that part of the book, Geonwoo’s finally decided to accept Seongwook’s advances,” he starts. “But since Seongwook’s already been treating him to expensive things for the entire novel, it wouldn’t really be special if their official first date was just another fancy restaurant, you know?”  


Jongin nods. He’s already familiar with this character dynamic, of the way Seongwook’s been whisking Geonwoo all over the place, treating him to all sorts expensive luxuries, and things he can’t afford. In fact, it sort of reminds him of –  


“So I thought that for this scene, it would be better if  _Geonwoo_  was the one to ask Seongwook out for a change. I was thinking of a home-cooked candlelit dinner kind of affair.”  


Jongin leans back in his seat.  


“That  _would_  be nicer,” he agrees. “More meaningful, anyway.”  


“The only problem is that it’s just… been a while since  _I’ve_  done something like that with anyone.” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin tries his best not to read into the words. This doesn’t necessarily mean Kyungsoo’s single, or anything. “And I don’t think I’m really capturing the essence of the scene properly, if you know what I mean.”  


“I see,” Jongin nods, frowning down at the tablecloth. A moment later, he looks up. “Maybe  _I_  should ask you on a date.”  


And it’s meant to be a joke, it really is. A horribly misguided, champagne-fuelled joke, but a joke nonetheless.   


Kyungsoo, who had been in the process of taking another sip of his own champagne, lowers the glass from his lips, and blinks.  


“You should,” he says.  


“Umm.”  


Now Jongin’s really done it.  


“Take me on a date Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin can’t really pinpoint his expression. There seems to be a little bit of teasing in there, but at the same time, he seems deadly serious.  


“For the book?” Jongin asks, with a resigned sigh. There’s no point in fighting it now, or trying to laugh it off. He made this bed, and it’s time to lie in it.  


“For the book.” Kyungsoo confirms.  


Jongin opens his mouth to say something that’s likely equally as embarrassing as he has been in response, but the waitress saves him by coming to take their order, just then. When she leaves, Kyungsoo thankfully changes the topic by mentioning that Chanyeol and Baekhyun have been asking after him, and the conversation changes onto a less revealing course.  


The food is wonderful, when it arrives. But Jongin’s stomach won’t stop churning.   
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
Three days later, Jongin sits in his office, reading the latest chapter that he’s finally received from Kyungsoo.  


Geonwoo’s characterisation seems to have strengthened a bit. He isn’t as… emotionally confusing as he had been earlier in the book, and Jongin shoots off a quick text to Kyungsoo telling him as much before he gets on with reading the rest.  


In this chapter, Geonwoo wakes bathed in a beam of sunlight in Seongwook’s apartment, after a heavy night of drinking he cannot remember. In this chapter, Seongwook traces a finger down his sharp jawline, tells him his golden skin is beautiful, and that he wants nothing more than to kiss those plush lips of his every day for the rest of his life.  


In this chapter, Geonwoo buys Seongwook coffee as an apology for his stupid, drunk behaviour the night before.  


When he finishes, Jongin shuts his laptop.  


He looks out of the window for a long time before he can bring himself to get back to work.  
  


 

* * *

 

 

  
Jongin doesn’t want to stress about this dumb date.  


But that’s exactly what he does, anyway, and it’s so fucking stupid, because when it really comes down to it, this is all  _his_  fault in the first place.  


But nevertheless, on Friday night he finds himself running around his apartment in a tiny bit of a frenzy, trying to make sure everything’s perfect for his ‘romantic candlelit dinner’ with Kyungsoo.  


He has to look at himself sternly in the mirror after he gets changed – into slacks and a nice button down – and remind himself firmly that this is all for the book. It doesn’t mean anything to Kyungsoo, and it shouldn’t mean anything to him, either.  


But inevitably, it does. And now Jongin’s going to worry about whether Kyungsoo thinks the amount of effort he’s put into everything is a tad suspicious.  


Maybe it’s time to sit down with himself and have an honest chat about this little crush of his.   


But then there’s a knock on the door, and it looks like he’ll have to save that for later, because Kyungsoo’s here now, and that’s an even bigger panic.   


“Kyungsoo-hyung, hi,” he says, as he opens the door, and then promptly starts to sweat.  


Because Jongin’s seen Kyungsoo in a fitted suit and tie before, and it’s not like he’s gone the whole nine yards tonight. But the sleek blazer and jeans are a nice alternative to his usual plaid button down and khakis combination, and the thought that Kyungsoo has actually taken the time to dress nicely just to come and see  _him_  sets his pulse one or two notches above what’s likely considered healthy.  


“Jongin,” Kyungsoo does this little nod by way of greeting – like a tiny bow where he just ducks his head a little – and it’s charming. Jongin is thoroughly charmed. “You look nice.”  


“Thank you,” he says, willing himself not to blush. It doesn’t work. “Come in.”  


Jongin’s apartment isn’t exactly the most spacious thing in the world, and the dining room and kitchen are sort of an all-in-one kind of deal that blends very closely into the living room, as he leads Kyungsoo through it. But Jongin’s done his best to dim the lights and set out candles, all to create that romantic atmosphere he hopes Kyungsoo was looking for.  


But then again, he doesn’t know, because it’s not like Kyungsoo gave him much to go off of. Maybe it would have been better if he asked? Or does Kyungsoo prefer the element of surprise?  


He fiddles with his hands as they approach the dining table, suddenly unsure. Perhaps the scented candles were too much? What if they’re overpowering, and Kyungsoo finds them annoying?  


“I hope this is okay,” he says, as he pulls out a chair for Kyungsoo to sit down. “I didn’t really know what you were going for, but I tried my best.”  


Kyungsoo seems to notice his fretting, because he lays a comforting hand on his upper arm.  


“Jongin, it’s perfect,” he says, keeping the contact light and fleeting before he takes his hand away. “I don’t want you to worry too much about this anyway.”  


“Okay,” Jongin says, swallowing to steady himself. The rational side of him feels somewhat comforted, he supposes, but the dumb whiny part that wanted Kyungsoo to be blown away is still pouting. “Alright. I’ll get the food.”

  
They lapse into pleasant, light conversation after that. Jongin manages to calm his nerves soon enough, forgets, even, that this is meant to be some kind of pseudo-date. He’s watched Kyungsoo’s eyes sparkle from across many a candlelit table before this with the kind of restaurant they’re frequenting, and it’s easy to lull himself into a sense of false security.  


They drift from topic to topic – from Jongin’s work, to Baekhyun and Chanyeol, who have gone from simply asking after Jongin, to demanding his presence at their next night out. At one point, Kyungsoo compliments the food, and Jongin has to admit, rather ashamedly, that it’s all store-bought, and he can’t, in fact, cook.  


Kyungsoo just laughs that pleasant laugh of his, eyes twinkling when he tells Jongin he’ll teach him some time, if he wants.  


Kyungsoo probably doesn’t know just how much Jongin  _does_  want.  


But, like always, the conversation does its rounds only to end up at the place it was always heading from the start. The book. Always the book.  


“Can I ask a question?” Jongin pauses to tip back the dregs of his wine. It’s getting late, they’re both full and sleepy, and Kyungsoo is just about to leave. “What happens when you finish your first draft?”  


“What do you mean?” Kyungsoo frowns. “We edit, of course. But you know that.”  


“No, like,” Jongin screws his eyes shut for a second, tries to make some sense out of the muddle in his brain. Too much wine already, it seems, but Kyungsoo had brought it along with him, and it was too excellent of a Cabernet Sauvignon to pass up. “Like what happens to  _this_? The whole inspiration thing.”  


Kyungsoo is silent a moment.  


“Well, with the basics already down, I won’t need much more inspiration.” He pauses. Raises his own glass to his lips. The wine catches the light – a dark, reflective red. “The writing itself just needs a lot more polish, I guess.”  


Jongin nods, looking down at the tablecloth. That’s kind of… exactly what he thought.  


“So you can get back to that nice, orderly, nine to five office job you love so much,” Kyungsoo jokes, and for the first time since Jongin’s met him, it sounds like he’s saying things just to fill the silence.  


Jongin doesn’t laugh.  


He changes the subject instead.  


“So what happens next?” He asks, watching soft candlelight play across Kyungsoo’s cheeks. Neck. Mouth. “In the book, I mean. Like what happens at this point of the date?”  


_This_  date, between him and Kyungsoo, might not be real, but for just a moment, Jongin’s stupid, drunk self would like to pretend it is.  


“Then,” Kyungsoo pauses and looks up at him, more unreadable than he’s ever been. “Then they kiss.”  


Jongin watches Kyungsoo carefully, the soft furrow between his eyebrows and the little shadows that his lashes cast down the slopes of his cheeks. Somewhere outside, a couple of blocks away, a car alarm goes off, but Jongin doesn’t even notice, feels so separated from the rest of the world like this, right here.  


The candle flickers and the light across Kyungsoo’s face dances, turning him warm and soft. He looks so appealing, so inviting, so ready for the taking.  


Their hands are both resting on the table, he realises. Centimetres apart.  


It’s not that simple.  


“Goodnight Kyungsoo,” Jongin murmurs.  


The moment Kyungsoo opens the door and the light from the hallway spills into his dim apartment, the spell breaks.  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
  
“Hey wake up.”  


A groan.  


“Kyungsoo.”  


“It’s early.”  


“It’s  _ten_.”  


“Ugh fine.” Another groan. A shuffle. Kyungsoo’s face comes into view now. “I’m going to have to start hiding my spare key better.”  


Jongin grins.  


“Get dressed, I want to take you somewhere.”  


Kyungsoo complies, eventually, with a sigh and a lot of grumbling. Ten minutes later, he emerges from his bedroom door looking a little more alive, and donning those signature khakis of his.  


Jongin supposes they aren’t very appropriate beachwear. But then he doubts Kyungsoo would change even if he told them where they’re going, so he decides to let it be.  


“Where are we going?” Kyungsoo asks, letting Jongin press a warm cup of takeout coffee into his palm while he yawns.  


“It’s a surprise,” Jongin says, falling into step behind Kyungsoo on his way out of the front door.  


They take Jongin’s car even though Kyungsoo’s is nicer, because he insists on driving, and Kyungsoo’s hundred-million-won Maserati intimidates him. Jongin trusts himself enough not to crash the damn thing, but what if he even scratches the paint job? Would he be able to afford to have it repaired?  


Kyungsoo doesn’t seem too put by Jongin’s sensible (re: boring) little Kia though. He just fiddles with the radio stations until he finds some smooth R&B tunes, before leaning back in his seat to close his eyes and doze off.  


Somewhere around the halfway point of their journey, the radio station they’re on switches to something livelier, and Kyungsoo takes that as his cue to wake back up. After a couple kilometres worth of scrutinising their surroundings, and every signpost they drive past, he speaks.  


“Are we going to the beach?”  


“Damn,” Jongin smiles. Kyungsoo rubs his eyes. “So much for it being a surprise.”  


“For my scene?” He asks now, turning in his seat to look at Jongin. “You remembered?”  


“It’s my job to remember hyung,” Jongin replies, rolling his eyes.  


“Still,” Kyungsoo looks out of the window, eyes catching on passing scenery. “I know it’s hard for you to get time off sometimes. Thank you.”  


The weather is lovely when they finally arrive and find a parking spot. Jongin steps out onto the pavement, and stretches the knots out of his neck and shoulders, letting the sun warm his back deliciously.  


“Where to first?” Kyungsoo asks, coming up beside him, but his stomach growls before Jongin can answer. They both laugh.  


“You haven’t eaten yet, so I guess we’ll grab an early lunch before anything else.”  


Kyungsoo seems to agree with that plan wholeheartedly, so they head off in search of food. After they’ve eaten, they stroll the length of the beach slowly while Kyungsoo people-watches, making witty observations about every new person they come across that have Jongin doubling over in laughter.  


Kyungsoo insists they dip their feet in the water after that, even though neither of them are dressed for it. They both end up getting far more soaked than intended, and then spend some time finding sea shells while they dry off.  


The sun is starting to set by the time they’re both too tired to keep running around, and sit themselves down, side-by-side, in the sand. Most of the other tourists and families are starting to leave, but the view is so pretty, and they decide to stay a little while longer.  


“Hyung,” Jongin starts, unsure if he should break this comfortable silence they’re currently both in. “Can I ask you something about the book?”  


Kyungsoo turns to watch him now, orange light from the sunset catching on his nose, lips, and cheekbones, turning him into a glowing ember next to Jongin.  


“Of course, Jongin.”  


“Geonwoo…” he turns back to watch the sunset instead of Kyungsoo, because the way he’s looking at him now, the way his eyes don’t even waver, is all a little too much. “Is he meant to be inspired by me?”  


Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kyungsoo turn back to face forward as well. Jongin buries his toes in the sand, and feels this warmth that has nothing to do with the blinding rays of sun when Kyungsoo says: “Not originally. But I guess you could say it’s turned out that way.”  


Jongin is silent for a long moment as he thinks of Geonwoo, of how, in time to come, countless readers will fall in love with him being swept away and cherished by the mysterious Seongwook. Of how Kyungsoo might have been imagining  _him_  in all of those situations this whole time, and his pulse picks up.  


And in that moment, he decides to ask a question that he probably shouldn’t.  


“Then,” he starts, swallows his words and tries again. “Then Seongwook… who is  _he_  inspired by?”  


But either Kyungsoo doesn’t hear the question, or chooses not to answer. Because the silence stretches between them in very little space on the sand, in the miniscule distance between their shoulders, that brush, every time one of them shifts.  


It’s comfortable.  


Jongin finds he doesn’t need the answer anyway.  


 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  
  
It’s late, by the time they drive back into Seoul. The sun has long since set, and the salt drying on Jongin’s ankles is starting to itch.  


They’ve been silent for most of the journey now, and Jongin doesn’t even know if Kyungsoo’s awake at this point. Which is why when he next speaks, he starts a little.  


“Can you pull up to Starbucks before you take me home?” Jongin hears him yawn.  


“Sure.” He pauses. Purses his lips as he watches the road. “You gonna write?”  


“Yeah.”   


Kyungsoo is quiet for long enough of a moment that Jongin starts to think he isn’t going to say anything more.  


“Today really helped me. Thank you Jongin.”  


Jongin tries to stop himself from smiling. He really does.  


“Just doing my job.”  


 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
Kyungsoo seems to have been well and truly inspired by both the date and the beach visit, because Jongin makes it a full week without any calls from him. He shoots off a text or two every now and again, just to check up, but Kyungsoo always tells him the same thing.  


He’s writing.  


Jongin isn’t as thrilled as he thinks he should be.  


But a week later, the inevitable happens, and it’s late on a Thursday night that he finds himself crowding into a pojangmacha three blocks down from Kyungsoo’s apartment for chicken and beer, with said author in tow. Kyungsoo had said he needed to get out for a bit, and Jongin was more than happy to oblige.  


Kyungsoo doesn’t want to talk about his scenes tonight, so Jongin doesn’t push him.  


“What’re you going to do once you finish the book?” Jongin asks instead. He’s already swaying lightly in his seat, because Kyungsoo’s vastly overestimated his alcohol tolerance yet again. “Write another one?”  


“Nah,” Kyungsoo waves a hand in lazy, drunk refusal. “I think I’m gonna take some time off. Travel maybe. Find my inspiration elsewhere.”  


All of a sudden, Jongin doesn’t feel so good. Like maybe he’s eaten too much chicken, or something. He laughs into his beer like his throat isn’t closing in on itself.  


“Sorry,” he jests, and if Kyungsoo can tell something’s off, he doesn’t mention it. “I forgot you have enough money to take a year off just like that. Most of us aren’t so lucky, you know.”  


Kyungsoo doesn’t laugh. He just watches him closely, and Jongin, as usual, can’t read him.  


He wants to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and ask him what that look means.  


He wants to grab him by the shoulders, and kiss him until his stomach stops hurting, and his throat opens up so he can breathe again.  


Jongin isn’t brave enough.  


He feels like a bit of a mess.  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
  
Kyungsoo goes back to not calling him, after that.  


Jongin still checks up, every now and again. By call or text. But it makes him feel stupid and desperate and lonely, and Kyungsoo never needs his help anyway, so he tries his best not to do that anymore.

 

It’s hard.  


Maybe Kyungsoo’s found someone else who inspires him more than Jongin does. Maybe Kyungsoo’s found his muse after all.  


Jongin tries to swallow down the lump in his throat with his morning tea.  


He feels disposable.  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
  
It’s a Saturday evening a month later, when Jongin finally gets a call from him.  


Five pm to be exact, and Jongin’s just started to wonder what he should do for dinner, whether he should call to see if Sehun wants to go out and get samgyeopsal, because he’s bored and lonely, and he has a craving.  


“Kyungsoo?” he asks, so surprised at the suddenness of it all, that even though he’s already checked the caller ID, he feels the need to make absolutely sure. “Hello?”  


“Jongin,” he breathes, and it’s him, but his voice shakes, and Jongin’s just about to ask if everything’s alright when he says: “I finished it. I finished the first draft.”  


Jongin stands straight up from the couch in sheer shock.  


“That’s,” and his own voice shakes too. From what, he doesn’t know. “That’s great Kyungsoo!”  


“I didn’t think I was going to make it, but today everything just clicked into place and I wrote so much, and before I knew it I was finished and –”  


Kyungsoo’s babbling. Kyungsoo’s  _actually_  babbling. It’s so cute and he sounds so genuinely excited that Jongin forgets all about the selfish little voice in his own mind asking  _‘what now?’_ , and laughs.  


“I’m so,” and he pauses. He needs to stop all of that emotion leaking into his own voice because he doesn’t even know what it is, doesn’t know what the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes are for. “I’m so  _proud_  of you hyung. So, so proud.”  


“Come over,” Kyungsoo says, all breathless delight, and Jongin’s pulse speeds because it’s been so long since he’s seen him. “I want to celebrate.”  


“Alright hyung,” Jongin laughs, and this time he knows that at least his emotions have settled for more happiness than doubt.  _For now._ “I’ll come. What exactly are we doing?”  


“I don’t even know,” Kyungsoo laughs as well, right before he hangs up. “Just come.”  


Jongin takes a moment to check himself over before he leaves, splash his face with water, and change into something a little nicer than a hoodie that hasn’t been washed in two weeks, and his sweatpants with the holes in them.  


It’s on the subway ride across the city, that his thoughts finally catch up to him.  


No more obscure coffee shops and trips to the park when he should be working.  


No more watching the sun set together, brushing shoulders, toes in the sand.  


No more not-really-dates that seem a little too much like real dates for Jongin not to feel like they’re falling hard and fast for each other. Although maybe that last one’s just wishful thinking on his part, and Kyungsoo doesn’t feel the same way at all.  


He consciously wills the pout off of his own face, and straightens up out of his slouch.  _Kyungsoo worked hard for this_ , he tells himself.  _He deserves this happiness, and you will_  not  _ruin it for him._  


_But I also worked hard for it,_ another part of him whines.  _And all I got was my heart trampled on._  


He pushes all of his conflicting thoughts down as the train pulls up at his stop, because he just doesn’t have the time.  _This is not about you,_ he tells himself, once and for all.  


The elevator ride up to Kyungsoo’s apartment is nerve-wracking. He’s jittery, nervous, and he can’t stop the swirl of emotions from chasing up his throat, making him feel like he’s going to throw up. He stands in front of Kyungsoo’s door for a good minute, willing it all down.   


But nothing seems to help. So when he finally knocks, his heart is in his throat, the sound of rushed footsteps on the other side of the door pounding through his head.  


The door swings open abruptly, and he’s met with a pair of wide, shining eyes.  


“Congratulations,” he just manages to say, before there’s a hand fisted in the front of his shirt, and Kyungsoo’s pulling him down, down, down, and forward, his hands getting crushed between them as Kyungsoo pushes him against the door to shut it, and promptly crushes their lips together.  


_Oh,_ thinks Jongin, and all of those other, tiny, screaming voices in the back of his head decide to shut the fuck up for once in their lives when he moves his lips and kisses back.  


Kyungsoo grabs at him, one hand surging into his hair, the other grasping at his shoulder as Jongin’s back hits the door. Jongin flounders for a moment, half trying to kiss back with as much ferocity as the pair of lips devouring his own, and half trying to get back his grip on reality without stopping the path of Kyungsoo’s mouth down over the side of his jaw.  


He manages though, and his thighs tremble as he cups Kyungsoo’s cheek, brings his face up from where he’s sucking a hickey into his collarbone, making him gasp. It seems to be the catalyst to have them both surging forward at the same time to kiss each other properly.  


Kyungsoo’s lips are moist, like he’s just licked them, and they slide against his own hotly with little puffs of humid air from where they’re both already breathing too hard clouding around them. The hand on his shoulders makes its way to his waist, tugs him closer, and suddenly they’re warm against each other, chest to chest, toes bumping somewhere in the middle as they stumble.  


“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo breathes, about fifteen seconds later when their feverish pace has inevitably burned out, and they have to take a moment to just catch their breath. Jongin can feel the tip of his nose brush against his own cheek even as he screws his eyes shut, and the strong grip in his hair moves to take one of his hands and clench it between them. “I was excited; I didn’t mean to–”  


“I’ve wanted this,” Jongin interrupts, pausing to pant and begin again. “I’ve wanted this for  _so long_  hyung.”  


Kyungsoo stops, and Jongin can feel his rapid breaths puff out across his face, can hear the way he swallows in the dimly lit, silent penthouse apartment. Far below, there is a city and traffic and noise, people going on with their busy, complicated lives. But right here, right now, there is only Kyungsoo, their fingers twined together, and a strong arm around his waist.  


That’s all Jongin needs, really.  


Kyungsoo’s voice is deeper than usual when he chuckles.  


“Alright then,” he concedes, before re-attaching their mouths and licking the seam of Jongin’s lips open. He parts them eagerly.  


With eyes still screwed shut, Kyungsoo leads Jongin in a pseudo-waltz through the apartment – the arm around his waist and their laced fingers making them sway dangerously. Jongin clips his elbow on the doorframe of the bedroom, and Kyungsoo lets out this low, attractive groan when they finally tumble into the too-many blankets on Kyungsoo’s bed.  


Kyungsoo’s straddling his thighs now, and Jongin’s spilled out across the bed covers, hair tousled and going every which way. Still fully clothed, but managing to look completely debauched with his shiny, parted lips, and pleading eyes.  


At least Kyungsoo seems to think so, because he bites his lip as he looks down at him, smooths hands across his stomach to push his shirt up. “Look at you,” he murmurs, and Jongin just shifts and wriggles a bit before he’s prompted to sit up, so Kyungsoo can pull the offending garment up and over his head, mussing up his hair even more.  


“So beautiful,” he says, when he pins Jongin back down, and presses little wet kisses across both of his collarbones, hands mapping the expanse of his shoulders. Jongin tips his head back and knots his fingers into the sheets so as not to lose his grip on the real world.  


“Soo,” he whimpers. “Kiss me.”  


And Kyungsoo does.  


There’s something so gentle about the way Kyungsoo brushes his hands up Jongin’s neck to cup his jaw when he does so. It’s tender, careful and measured, as Kyungsoo slots their mouths together and closes his eyes, even though one of his legs slips between Jongin’s thighs, and grinds between them.  


Jongin moans even as he abandons his fistfuls of bedsheet, manages to work hands in between their two bodies to start on Kyungsoo’s buttons and rid him of today’s plaid button down.   


It’s blue this time.  


He’s arching up by the time he gets to the last button, and grazes Kyungsoo’s shirt back to slip off around his shoulders with tentative fingertips. One of his legs has shifted up, too, thigh fitting into the dip of the other man’s waist, calf caressing the side of his hip.  


“I can’t believe I get to do this,” Kyungsoo tells him, hushed like it’s a secret, when he pulls back to look him in the eyes. His face is soft, expression so achingly affectionate that it makes Jongin want to melt as he slides his own fingers into close-cropped hair, feels Kyungsoo press one more kiss to his lips before he starts his journey down his throat, and into the dip just above his breastbone.  


Kyungsoo sketches lines into his skin with his fingertips, discovers every rough bump, scar, and imperfection on the smooth plains of Jongin’s body. But even then, he doesn’t pull back, merely dipping in to taste even further, with brushes of lips, tongue, the tip of his nose.  


Jongin feels both swept away and cherished. Swooned, and treated like the most precious, precious thing. When Kyungsoo reaches the top of his jeans, and his eyes flicker up to look at him, Jongin’s already watching with damp eyes, and teeth sunk deep into his reddened lower lip.  


“May I?” Kyungsoo asks, tapping the button on his fly with a single finger, twice. Jongin sniffles, and nods.  


His jeans only make it down to his knees, and then Kyungsoo’s hovering over the bulge in his boxers, palms warm as they slip under the elastic banding, and take his member out. He gasps at the shock of the first touch, body going rigid momentarily, only to shudder at the swelling, the rush of blood when Kyungsoo kisses the tip.  


He’s still got his hands in Kyungsoo’s hair, and only when the other takes his cock into his mouth, slides the full plushness of his lips around the head, do they tighten, gripping harder. The fingers resting on his thighs to keep them apart sink in a little deeper when Kyungsoo dips down and around him, wet, hot, tight, delicious heat engulfing both his body and sanity.  


“Kyungsoo,” he bites out, struggling on the bedsheets in an attempt not to buck up. It’s not that he doesn’t like what’s happening down there, but if Kyungsoo keeps that up for much longer, he’s going to come pretty soon, and he doesn’t want to do that, just yet. “I can’t – hurry up, please.”  


Kyungsoo smirks before he pulls off with a wet little  _pop_ , and Jongin can only tell by the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners in that devious way of his.  


“Patience is a virtue,” he chides as he gets up on hands and knees and crawls over Jongin to reach for the nightstand. Whilst he fumbles, Jongin kicks off his jeans, which have bunched into shackles around his knees by now, and rids himself of his boxers too.  


“Pants,” he complains with a frown, when Kyungsoo comes back to his level with a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms, and makes a play for his belt buckle. Kyungsoo just chuckles, sitting up on his knees to let Jongin grapple with the garment, only interfering when he’s worked Kyungsoo’s trousers off to mid-thigh, and goes for his boxers too.  


“That can wait for later,” he says, crowding Jongin back down onto the bedsheets insistently. And for all the times Jongin’s paid special attention to Kyungsoo’s voice before, never has it sounded sexier than right now, dark and throaty, and coloured with obvious arousal.  


Palms smooth up the backs of his thighs now to prise his legs apart. He feels bare, spread open and vulnerable as Kyungsoo squeezes some lube over his fingers, and then they’re pressing, cold and probing, against his entrance.  


But then, when he starts to push in and Jongin has to squeeze his eyes shut from the bite and pain, Kyungsoo’s there, pressing kisses onto the back of his thighs and whispering sweet nothings, a hovering warmth against his skin, and it’s not so bad.  


Kyungsoo works him through it slowly, nothing but encouraging as Jongin breathes and holds onto the bedsheets again. It’s not comfortable, at first, but by the end of it, when Kyungsoo’s worked all of four fingers in, he manages to twist them in just the right way to find his sweet spot. Jongin closes his eyes and tips his head back, mouth falling open on a pleasured, quiet sigh.  


He blinks up at Kyungsoo when he finally draws his fingers out, watches as the other man stands to discard the rest of his clothing on the floor, tearing open the condom to roll it on. He doesn’t speak while Kyungsoo lubes himself up, tensing and releasing an overwhelmed, shuddery breath when the head of his cock finally nudges against his entrance.  


But Kyungsoo’s there again, making sure he’s alright with fingers slipped between his own, the thumb of his other hand dragging over his cheekbone as he leans down to kiss him.  


“Okay?” he asks, staying close as Jongin finally steels himself, and settles hands onto the other’s shoulders.  


Jongin nods.  


“Okay.”  


Then Kyungsoo starts to push in slowly, gradually getting deeper and deeper, until he bottoms out and groans.  


But Jongin’s fingernails are biting into the junctures between his shoulders and his neck, and his legs have closed in on themselves, knees gripping into the flanks of his waist, so he waits.  


He waits until Jongin’s shifting a little despite himself, and his cheeks are flushed and pretty when he nods up at him, not finding the words. Only then does he move.  


Jongin whimpers on the first thrust, and it sounds more in pain than in pleasure. So Kyungsoo moves to hold him close, arms slipping behind his shoulder blades, underneath and around him, when they kiss. And he’s so slow and careful about the whole thing, treats Jongin like something so exquisite and breakable, that he can’t quite help clinging onto him like he wants to mould himself around the other man and never let go.  


The hands on Kyungsoo’s shoulders move to wrap both arms entirely around his neck, draw him impossibly closer into their collection of tiny, delicate kisses. His legs slip further past his waist to circle around him now, ankles crossed somewhere over his lower back.  


And this new position changes the angle of their thrusts too. Kyungsoo’s suddenly pressing up and deeper into him, and little stars go off on the backs of Jongin’s eyelids with a muffled moan.  


“Like that?” Kyungsoo asks, pulling back with swollen lips just to do it again. Jongin dissolves against him, muscles turning into liquid.  


“Yeah,” he sighs, voice breathy.  


They simply rock against each other now, Jongin tilting his face up to press it into the crook of Kyungsoo’s neck. It’s just so good, and it’s everything he wouldn’t admit he’s been craving in all of these months he’s known Kyungsoo, maybe even from the first day they met.  


Other than all of their involuntary little noises, the apartment is completely quiet – whines and groans and sighs choking off into strangled sounds of pure satisfaction. They’re too far away from the outside world, too high up and cut off from anything that could interfere in their little bubble, anyone who would want to separate their two bodies curling sensuously around each other.  


Neither of them bothered to switch a light on during their rather preoccupied journey into the bedroom, and now, the sun is starting to set. Right now, it’s low enough to get just the right angle to spill light through the still-open curtains, covering the two of them in a sheen of glowing coral pink. They’re both lit up like an art exhibition, like someone’s taken the time and care to paint them into this scene, a perfect picture of passionate, carnal attraction, of two people caught up in nothing but each other.  


And it’s probably just because the two of them have both been wanting it for so long, but they aren’t exactly winning any competitions for endurance tonight. Jongin would be mortified – and he  _is_ , for a second, that he’s so close to the edge – but Kyungsoo isn’t faring any better, if the way his hips stutter and press, and his arms holding him more crushingly tight are anything to go by.  


When he comes, it’s because Kyungsoo’s managed to untangle a hand from somewhere within the mess that is their limbs, and wrap it around his cock to jerk him off. He goes rigid, hands and legs clamping down and around the other man’s body, and keens a soft, broken noise into his skin.  


By the time his vision – and thoughts – return, Kyungsoo’s coming too, hips canting deep inside of him when a wet burst fills the condom. He groans, long and drawn out, and then eventually, comes to still completely.  


They both just lie there for a moment, catching their breath and getting their bearings once again.  


Eventually though, it’s too hot and sticky to stay like this, and Kyungsoo slips out and rolls off of him. The condom ends up tied off and thrown in the waste paper basket under the nightstand, and Kyungsoo grabs a couple of tissues to help clean the white mess drying on Jongin’s chest.  


They settle, moments later, into quiet, retrospective afterglow. The sun has slipped even further down the horizon, and it’s getting steadily darker across Seoul’s skyline, the light coming into the apartment is now on it’s last hues of purpling, dwindling red.  


Kyungsoo’s lying on his side, with an arm slipped under Jongin’s shoulders, watching it go down. If he turns his head to the left right now, his cheek will brush up against Kyungsoo’s collarbone. It’s a fragile, intimate, quiet moment that he doesn’t really want to break by speaking.  


But the doubt is starting to set in again. And this time, he just has to.  


“I really, really like you,” he tells Kyungsoo, breaking the silence and looking up at him with wide, damp eyes. So unsure.  


Kyungsoo tilts his head to look back down at him. He looks fond.  


“I know,” he says, with a lazy little half-smirk, and it breaks all the tension of the moment before. Jongin pouts horribly, and smacks him weakly in the chest while Kyungsoo just laughs. “You actually told me that night when we went out with Chanyeol and Baekhyun while I was driving you home.”  


Jongin’s heart sinks.  


All this time, he thought as much. But that’s not exactly what he was hoping to find out, right now.  


“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, unable to stop all that dumb, infatuated sadness and disappointment from creeping into his voice. The room has faded to purple by now, in the very, very last reaches of the sun’s light.  


This whole time, Kyungsoo’s known exactly how he feels. Jongin is a fool.  


“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. The room is suddenly very cold, and he shivers. “Jongin, look at me.”  


A fingertip finds its way under his chin, and tilts his head up. Jongin blinks back tears, but meets the smouldering look in Kyungsoo’s eyes all the same.  


“I need you to understand something,” he tells Jongin now, and the course of his finger changes to trail down his neck, his breastbone, into the dip in between his pecs. “If I had kissed you every time I’d wanted to, I would never have finished this book, Jongin.”  


Jongin’s heart stops.  


So does his breathing.  


The look in Kyungsoo’s eyes is unwavering. Sincere.  


“Oh,” he says. A smile hesitates at the edges of his lips, and Jongin doesn’t quite know what to say. “That’s…”  


It doesn’t matter in the end. Because Kyungsoo leans in and kisses him anyway, and after that, they don’t speak for a long, long while.  


When reality finally registers to his stupid, lovesick brain, the temperature of the room has changed again. And even though it’s fully night time by now, the room awash with dark, dark night, Jongin is warm.  


There’s something fierce burning in the bottom of his stomach that keeps the chill off.  
  


 

* * *

  
  
  
“Champagne?”   


Jongin turns to find a smartly dressed waiter offering him a drink from a tray full of sparkling golden glasses. He knows he shouldn’t, with how his alcohol tolerance has  _always_  been in the past, but one more wouldn’t hurt, right?  


He nods, and plucks one delicate, long-stemmed glass from the reflective silver surface of the tray, before the waiter is swirling away into a glittering crowd, soon to be swallowed up into the array of bejewelled evening dresses and tailor-fitted suits.  


“Watch how much you drink,” Kyungsoo murmurs against his ear, a little aside from the conversation he’s currently having with a very beautiful, elegant young woman in a dark green ballgown. Kyungsoo had introduced her as Joohyun, but Jongin’s a little bleary already, and he doesn’t quite remember what reason he gave as to why he knows her.   


He smiles from his place, tucked under his boyfriend’s arm, the picture of innocence, even though he  _knows_  he’s already tipsy. Kyungsoo ticks one eyebrow a little higher in a sceptical little  _‘I don’t believe you’_  kind of gesture.  


“Kyungsoo-yah!”   


The front doors of the hall suddenly fly open with a bang, drawing shocked gasps and hands pressed to startled chests from the crowd around them. Upon turning, they find a familiar young man, framed in the doorway in dramatic distress, as he stares accusingly across the room at none other than Kyungsoo himself.  


Byun Baekhyun. Jongin is already well acquainted.  


“You’ve been ignoring me again!” He screeches, and a susurration of hushed whispers spreads quickly across the floor, all cherry red lips hidden behind dainty palms.  


A taller man appears behind Baekhyun now, panting as if he had just run a mile, and latches himself nervously to his arm as if to pull him away. Park Chanyeol. Baekhyun remains resolute, and resists.  


Kyungsoo sighs a resigned kind of sigh, and turns calmly back to Joohyun to apologise and excuse himself from the conversation. “I’d better go deal with this,” he tells Jongin, rolling his eyes and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, before he’s weaving his way through the crowd towards the troublemaker.  


Jongin nods. He understands that Baekhyun has always had a flair for the dramatic.  


Joohyun is quickly caught up into a different conversation when another equally as gorgeous young woman touches her arm by way of greeting. But Jongin doesn’t know either of them, so he finds a quiet moment to slip away, and hover near the edge of the room beside the buffet tables.   


Even though he’s been with Kyungsoo for nearly a year now, he still just doesn’t fit in at this kind of thing.  


A little ways off, he spies Sehun laughing with a group of people, some new conquest of his dripping off of his arm. Kim Jongdae, as he had been introduced, has a startlingly kittenish mouth, cut cheekbones, and a laugh that can be heard all the way across the room.  


He’s a vocal coach, according to Sehun. But the younger man had only  _told_  him that so he could go on to say _“dude, he can hold his breath for ages. Makes him great at blowj –”_ before Jongin had shoved him in the chest and told him to fuck off.  


Jongin is just debating whether he can forgive Sehun for his overly-graphic sex life, just to have someone to talk to, when a new presence steps up beside him, and lays a warm hand on his shoulder.  


“Nice book launch,” the other person says, and it’s Minseok looking dazzling in a tuxedo with his hair slicked back. “Tell your boyfriend I’m impressed.”  


“Tell him yourself,” Jongin scoffs, and he can see that Minseok’s got a copy of Kyungsoo’s new book tucked under his arm. “He’s still affiliated with the firm, you know.”  


“He’s  _leaving_ ,” Minseok points out, with a frown. “To travel. With you.”  


“He’s coming back hyung,” Jongin rolls his eyes. “Don’t look so put out, he isn’t going to jump ship. He  _likes_  the firm. He likes  _you_.”  


Minseok seems appeased by that, and the two of them fall into comfortable silence for a moment. Jongin’s eyes take the pause as a chance to scan the crowd, unconsciously looking for Kyungsoo.   


When he finds him, it looks like Baekhyun has already forgiven his sins, arms slung around Kyungsoo’s neck and an ear-splitting grin stretched out across his face. Jongin huffs a breath of soft, amused laughter.  


“Jongin,” Minseok says thoughtfully, as he watches the younger man. “You haven’t seen the dedication yet, have you?”  


“Huh?” Jongin snaps out of his distraction, eyes going wide. “Oh, no. Kyungsoo wouldn’t let me see it pre-publication.”  


Minseok doesn’t say anything. He merely sets his drink down on the buffet table, and takes the book out from under his arm. He carefully flicks through the two, very first pages, and then holds the book open for Jongin to take.  


“Here.”   


The spine is solid and smooth in Jongin’s palms when he takes it, and peers down into the parted pages curiously.  


And his heart beats against the walls of his throat. One beat, two beat, three.

 

_For Jongin. My muse._  


 


End file.
